


Year to the day.

by ladydragon543



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Mention of major character death, Reichenbach Feels, SPOILERS FOR THE REICHENBACH FALL, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:48:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon543/pseuds/ladydragon543
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John after Reichenbach. A glimpse of John's life after Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Year to the day.

John wakes in hospital, dazed and confused, before he remembers what day it is. He's being treated for "shock and a concussion". When he asks for more details, he gets a "someone will be in shortly".

Of course he knows what everyone isn't saying. They're hoping he won't remember until someone he knows can break it to him gently. After all, its what he would do.

His memory of today is somewhat jumbled, but he knows very well what day it is. How could he not? John remembers with awful clarity that horribly conversation with Sherlock. Wanting to scream and shout, force Sherlock to listen to reason.

He remembers feeling absolutely useless, unable to do anything but watch.

And he did. He never took his eyes off Sherlock, and John Watson watched his best friend jump to his death.

He remembers running, and vainly hoping against hope that perhaps somehow Sherlock is still alive, if he can just get there, _he just needs to get there_ and everything will be fine, and John will want to throttle Sherlock for scaring him like that--

And then the cyclist bowling him over, like its a normal day, like his needs are more important than John’s, more important than _Sherlock’s life_ , and John hits the ground incredibly hard, and his head bounces off the pavement.

And some horrible and absurd dark corner of his mind whisperes: _this is just a fraction of what Sherlock felt._

After the cyclist, everything starts to blur together. He remembers the crowd, his ears ringing, and he remembers fighting to get through, his knees starting to feel weak.

The sight of Sherlock’s body there, stone-sharp face covered with blood and his eyes so vacant.

The last thing John remembers with painful clarity is trying desperately to keep hold of Sherlock’s wrist.

After that, its hazy images of white lights, worried voices, his sister’s face. And then nothing except for one certain thought.

The day that Sherlock Holmes died will be a day that will define John Watson until the end of his days.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first night John is finally left on his own, is the night of Sherlock’s funeral.

He’d gone with Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson. A startling number of people showed up—most to show their support but still others to condemn a dead man. Despite John’s insistence otherwise, public opinion held that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud, that Rich Brook was a poor misunderstood actor, and that James Moriarty had never existed.

Moriarty had won.

The thought is enough to make John forget that he had promised Mrs. Hudson that he wouldn’t do anything stupid.  He contemplates drinking himself into oblivion. Except that had never been his thing, not really. Wash down a couple of pints, sure, but drink purposefully to forget? To just lose himself? That was more Harry’s bag.

Harry's bag or not, it only takes overhearing some passing couple talking about the funeral and how Sherlock was a fraud to make him change his mind.

The last thing he remembers is going out to get some fresh air.

The next morning he wakes up in a drunk tank, reeking, head throbbing and his arm wrapped in gauze. Lestrade is the one who releases him. Neither man says a word beyond the necessities. John can’t help but feel somewhat vindicated; Lestrade won’t meet his eyes. 

John doesn’t remember what happened that night at all.

*~*~*~*~*

Three months after Sherlock's death, Mrs. Hudson comes to John and tells him not to worry about rent, that it had been taken care of. John doesn't have to ask to know it was Mycroft. The work of a guilty conscience, he supposes.

The next day he receives a call from Sarah, offering him his position at the surgery back. John takes it gladly.

He knows his reputation is a tarnished one. One of the few who actually knew Sherlock Holmes who still defend him. Obviously he must be a nutter.

But Sarah doesn't say any of those things, just invites him to come later in the afternoon and fill out new paperwork, and thats that. He's got a flat and a job, he can resume normality. Which of course is impossible. He's back in therapy, a condition for his continued employment with Sarah.

She is far too kind to say it, but John knows that she's afraid that perhaps John isn't the man he seems to be either.

The limp is back.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It's been six months and John no longer brews two cups of tea _every_ morning, and finally he's finished packing up the things Mycroft had been looking for ("State Secrets, you understand, John." "Of course.")

The only things left of Sherlock's presence in the flat is the skull and his violin, both sitting exactly where Sherlock last left them. John realizes how soothing it can be, talking to the skull. He regrets ever teasing Sherlock about it.

The violin he never touches.

Everyone he knows (save the ever glorious Mrs. Hudson) thinks its high time that he move on--especially Harry. This does nothing but make John angry because he's fine, just fine thanks, and even if he _isn't_. Well. He's doing a damn sight better than a certain nosy sister who nearly drank herself to death after driving Clara away and he doesn't need any interference _thank you._

 Therapy isn't helping at all. His therapist is stuck on the fact that he no longer updates his blog, nor has he started a new one. But really, why should he? The old blog is a nuisance and he really should get around to deleting it, and all people do anyways is leave hatemail. So why should he keep blogging?

Nothing good ever happens to him anymore.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It is perhaps a blessing and a curse that John doesn't realize the date until he comes home to 221 B and finds a black car and Mrs. Hudson waiting for him. The day had been a long one, and if he'd been preoccupied, he may not have made it through. As it is, John can only stare numbly, until Mrs. Hudson pats him on the hand, and climbs into the car.

He’d forgotten.

John is flooded with shame and guilt for the entire car ride to the cemetary. It's been a year. A full year to the day and he'd _forgotten_.

_“I was so alone and…I owe you so much”_

The last time John and Mrs. Hudson had come here, they’d both been very raw. Wounded. (If John were to be truthful, he'd say that they still are. Though maybe its not as raw as they were before.) It had only been a month or so since the funeral, and the stone had finally been put into place. 

_There’s just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me._

Mrs. Hudson had wanted to see it, and of course John couldn’t deny her. She never said, to this day she hasn't, but John knows she felt that Sherlock was a second son to her. At the grave site, they are both quiet. The stone as pristine as that black day.

Mrs. Hudson places a bundle of flowers at the foot of it, her hand gently tracing the bold faced letters.

John moves a few yards back out of respect for her. He loses track of time, remembering what he said when he last stood here. He is startled when Mrs. Hudson is suddenly right next to him, she has taken his hand in hers, and is asking a wordless question. He gives her a pained smile, and shakes his head, and they slowly head back to the car.

_Don’t. Be. Dead. Would you do that, just for me, just… stop it. Stop this!_

Everything that needed saying had already been said.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! It was pretty much a way for me to get rid of some Reichenbach feels.
> 
> The bit about Mrs. Hudson considering Sherlock to be a second son--in my headcannon (and in TariCalmCacil's I believe, we've talked about this in depth) Mrs. Hudson had a son go off to war and die. So Sherlock and then later John become family to her because of that. So, y'know, that makes Mrs. Hudson and her anger and grief even more ;_; worthy in my head. I may do a companion piece in her POV. Not sure yet.
> 
> Liked it? Hated it? Feedback is always appreciated. =)


End file.
